


Unexpected Conversations

by thecookiemomma



Series: Gentlemen Signers [2]
Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation, NCIS
Genre: Disability, Gen, Sign Language, deafness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-13
Updated: 2012-06-13
Packaged: 2017-11-07 16:20:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/433095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecookiemomma/pseuds/thecookiemomma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Grissom has a challenge. Gibbs is the right person to give him the information he needs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unexpected Conversations

**Author's Note:**

> ASL is its own language, and it is a visual language. To accommodate that, when writing about it, signers will use what's called a "Gloss system." It catalogs the signs used in ASL order and often doesn't make sense to English readers. To make it easy for non-signers to understand, I've put the translations afterward in parentheses. Also, I haven't kept up with CSI enough to know if this is totally off base. If it is, I do apologize.

Gibbs sat down in the chair in Abby's lab. “What do I do, Abbs?” He looked over at the screen.

“Direct your attention to the little camera, there, Gibbs,” She gestured to the small round camera sitting on the desk. He signed a quick greeting into it, and Abby nodded. “Yeah. Exactly. Except he's not here yet. He'll be up on the big screen. For the most part, just sign normally. You might want to remember that's direction...” He took her point, mentally orienting himself to consider the 'yous' and other directional signs aiming toward it. 

“Thanks, Abbs. Any clue when he's ….” His sentence was cut off by a sound that started off being two tones, then changed pitch, 'Dah-dee-dah, Dah-dee-dah.' “That him?” 

“That's him, Bossman,” Abby bounced up and down. “Wonder why he wants to talk to you?” 

“S'what I'm here to find out, Abbs.” He leaned over, kissed her temple, and then nodded. “Okay, go.” 

With the click of the little green bubble, Gil Grissom was on the screen. HI, Gris signed. WHAT'S-UP? (Hi! What's up?) 

CURIOUS, Gibbs replied, settling down into a chair. CALL-ME, WHY? (I'm curious. Why'd you call me?)

MARINE. Gris gazed at the screen, then wanted reassurance. YOU? (You're a Marine, right?) 

Gibbs snorted. #YES, RELEASE-JOIN NEVER. (Yup! No such thing as an ex-Marine.)

KNOW-THAT. (I knew that.) Grissom seemed to need to think for a long moment before going on. Gibbs wouldn't mind discussing whatever with the guy he'd met at the conference, but he was on company time. 

HELP-YOU WORK? Gibbs didn't think so, because their labs did homicide, mainly, and if a Marine was killed, it'd be their jurisdiction. (This for work?)

NO-NO, Gris waved his hands. PERSONAL, SORRY. (Oh, no. It's a personal issue. I'm sorry.) 

RULE 6, Gibbs signed. SORRY-SORRY-SORRY MEAN WEAK. That got a snort of laughter from the other man. (Rule 6: (constant) apologizing is a sign of weakness). 

RULES. MARINE RULES? Gibbs shook his head, then replied. (Yeah. Rules. You get these rules as a Marine?) 

NO. WIFE RULES. He heard Abby gasp in the background. He tapped his thumb with the middle of his hand. FIRST WIFE. MEET, GIVE-ME RULES-RULES-RULES. (No, I got them from my wife. My first wife. When we met, she gave me a bunch of rules.) 

REASON FIRST DIVORCE? Gris asked, making a perfectly acceptable assumption. (Is that the reason for the divorce?)

NO. DIED. DRUG-SELLER SHOOT WIFE, DAUGHTER, THOSE-TWO. He rubbed at his cheek, then finished giving the information. DAUGHTER, SHE AGE-8. (No. She died. A drug dealer shot her and my daughter. My daughter was 8 years old.)

SORRY, Gris replied, and this time, Gibbs accepted it, knowing it was an expression of sympathy as well as apology in ASL. (My condolences.) 

WAY-BACK, Gibbs offered. TODAY SLOW, BUT PAPER (Cha). He made the handshape and noise that signified a huge stack of papers. (It was a long time ago. Today is a slow day, but I've got a huge stack of paperwork.) 

ALWAYS, Gris smirked. NEVER RUN-OUT. (That's always the case. It never runs out.) 

TRUE, Gibbs agreed. PERSONAL, WHAT? (True enough. So, what's this personal issue?)

WIFE MINE. (My wife.)

CONGRATULATIONS. NEW NEWS-TO-ME. When they'd met at the conference, he hadn't mentioned a wife. Usually, that was basic information. (Congratulations! That's new information.) 

YES. YOU-AND-I MET, SHE-AND-I UNCERTAIN. That'd explain it. Gibbs nodded, intrigued. (Yeah, when we met, she and I were figuring things out.) 

ROMANTIC ADVISE-YOU MINE, LOUSY, Gibbs grinned. (My romantic advice will be lousy.)

NO-NO. Gris replied, laughing. FINE FINE. UNCLE HERS MARINE. MEETING THIS WEEKEND. (No, that's okay! Her uncle is a Marine, and I'm meeting him this weekend.) 

OH-I-SEE, Gibbs nodded. SAME-AS ARMY, NAVY, MOST. TRADITION STRONG EMPHASIZE, DEPEND-ON EACH-OTHER... Gibbs sat for a few minutes, giving his new friend the basics of the Marine mindset. (Oh! Okay. Well, it's pretty much like the other branches of service. We've got a strong emphasis on tradition. Marines depend on each other...)


End file.
